


You and I are the blood and the bones.

by Fyrea



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Blood, Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyrea/pseuds/Fyrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death pays Abbie a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I are the blood and the bones.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sandarenu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandarenu/gifts).



> Title is taken from the song 'Shoulda' by Jamie Woon.  
> Writing this was meant to be cathartic, but alas... Unbetaed and mostly a product of delirium.  
> Enjoy.

Mama dies in the springtime; alone and half mad with the fear of God in her heart. They do their best to mourn her, short fingers digging a space for her next to the rickety remains of dad, but summer arrives and the edge of the yew tree overgrows with ivy. Reality sets in.

“Time waits for no one” she once read, and neither do memories, but she learns an eternity of tender lies and the harsh murmured truths of a town too small to lose yourself in.

She thinks of Jenny the nights loneliness creeps in, slinking into the creases that mark skin too heavy with the weight of guilt steeped in self-deprecation borne from several lifetimes of regret.

The blood bubbles out of her, a steady staccato of pain that ebbs and flows with each gasp she takes. She knows death, has felt her close companionship her whole life. Regret feels a distant memory, and guilt slinks from the margins to stake a claim.

Guilt is Jenny in her Sunday best, hands outstretched and eyes too trusting as she takes a tentative step towards her, grasping onto her anchor. She’s so small, her Jenny, so full of hope and wonder and a light that never dims. She lets go and watches the cacophony of buckled knees and wiry curls that lick against the curve of her cheek as Jenny stumbles. 

Guilt is mama, with her hair tied back and her hands wound tight against her Jenny’s throat, as Abbie struggles to pry her grasp free from the red and blue and the sun that filters into the too bright room through a crack in the window of a place she doesn’t quite remember.  

_“Pitiful Abbie, cut down in your prime like the women before you. You and I are the blood and the bones.”_

 

 


End file.
